Acclimating to the Devil
by xPhineasx
Summary: Jim Moriarty changed his life, but that's to be expected when you fall in love with a man like him.


Acclimating to the Devil

Jim Moriarty/Sebastian Moran

Rated: M

Jim Moriarty changed his life, but that's to be expected when you fall in love with a man like him.

X x x

x x x

John was still trying to get used to Sherlock being back. It didn't feel real. He had to keep looking over at Sherlock, reaching out, touching his arm, just to make sure he wasn't dreaming. It had been three months since Sherlock reappeared in his life, and things were slowly going back to normal.

They sat in the lab at St. Bart's, with Sherlock slumped over a microscope, just like he used to. John and Molly sat around, fetching him the things he asked for and trying to keep up when he spoke. He wasn't speaking much though. He had been fairly quiet since his return from the grave and at the moment was deeply absorbed in his work. He barely even glanced up when the door to the lab swung open.

There was a young man in the doorway. He couldn't have been older than thirty. He wore dirty jeans that looked like they had been incredibly expensive when they were new, a long sleeve black shirt, and a hunting vest. Dirty blond hair hung shaggy in his eyes. He stood like ex-military, and had a large duffel over his shoulder. As he walked in his eyes locked with Sherlock's.

Molly froze when she saw him.

"Ah, hello Molly. It's been a while," the man said in a friendly enough voice, though his eyes never left Sherlock's.

"You...know him?" John asked Molly. He had a bad feeling about this already.

"Seb. Y-yes. When I was...well...when I knew...Jim..." Molly said in her small halting voice.

"Moriarty," John breathed. The name gave him shivers.

"Yes. This is Seb Moran. He's Jim's...well...I don't know...he said he was a school mate," Molly said, her hands clutching nervously at the hem of her lab coat.

"Clearly not the case in retrospect," Sherlock said softly.

"Good times those were, weren't they, Molly? You and your bloody cats. Watching _Glee_." The man walked further into the room and dropped his duffel. John was suddenly very worried about the contents of that duffel. "Nice to finally meet you two in person. The great Sherlock Holmes, back from the dead, and his pudgy doctor blogger. You look fatter when I'm not looking at you through a sniper scope, Doctor Watson. Who knew sniper scopes were so slimming?"

"Sebastian Moran," John breathed. Oh he'd heard of the man. Gossip spread in military circles. "You...you were the sniper. At the pool."

"Ah, yes. One of them. At the hospital as well when Sherlock took the plunge. Or when he was supposed to anyway. But some people just lack narrative vision, don't they?" The man's eyes were dark and dangerous.

"A former henchmen of Moriarty. Here to exact revenge on his orders, maybe?" Sherlock asked, looking the man over closely. John knew Sherlock was still reading the man, soaking in every detail of his appearance and stance, every pattern of speech and shade of meaning.

"How boring. No. Jim wouldn't want revenge. Of course, you probably don't understand that at all." Sebastian Moran took out a cigarette and bit it between his teeth.

"I understand everything perfectly," Sherlock replied. His confidence in his own cleverness never wavered.

"Wrong. You know, he said you were like him for the longest time. He had watched you for years, before the good doctor came along." The man cracked his neck. He looked nearly feral. He spoke like a man who was not accustomed to being verbose, but had been moved to it by circumstance. The words came out like he had been practicing this speech for months.

"He saw that you, like him, were alone," Sebastian Moran continued. "He had assumed though, that you were alone because, like him, you could see through people and saw how disgusting they were. But he was wrong, wasn't he? You don't see through people." He lit the cigarette. "You are baffled by people. You never could grasp why dear little John and Mrs. Hudson cared for you. You still don't understand why they grieved you. You were alone because you didn't understand and it is easier for you to hide than it is for you to deal with not understanding. Jim...he was alone because he understood too much. He was too clever, and you are too stupid. But oh you try. It's rather sickening. Jim was so disappointed when he realized. It's why you had to die, really."

Sherlock didn't rise to the insult. Rather he looked the man over slowly and finally came to a deduction. "You were his lover."

Sebastian Moran's face curled into a sneer. "He found me in a gutter, Mr. Holmes. Rotting from a heroine addiction." John was surprised to hear a small tremor in the man's voice. "Do you know how much the government gives you if your dishonorably discharged? Nothing. Not a damn cent. He found me there, and he saved me, and all I had to do in return was whatever he told me. Mostly I had to place the right bullets in the right skulls. And yeah, sometimes he told me to shag him."

"Mmm. So maybe you want revenge for yourself then? Sentiment?"

"No," Sebastian straightened up. John could see the military man in him, dishonorable discharge or not. "I'm here with a message. Jim is dead. I don't know what you said, or what you did that made him eat that bullet, Holmes, but he is dead. But Moriarty, the organization, the empire, lives on. I may not be as clever as Jim, never will be, don't care to be, but I do know which skulls are the most advantageous to put bullets in. I will not end up in a gutter again, Holmes. Nor will I end up in a prison cell. So this is a warning: Be very careful that it does not become advantageous for me to place a bullet in your skull."

"Very generous of you to warn us," Sherlock said.

Sebastian Moran gave a dangerous, man eating grin. It was like the devil was staring through his eyes. "I'm a generous man." He turned to look at Molly. "Good to see you. Tell your kitties I say hello," he laughed, turned and walked out of the room.

No one moved for a long while. The future seemed uncertain once again.

x x x

x x x

Sebastian Moran sat in an alley way and contemplated killing himself. He was out of heroin, out of booze, out of cigarettes, out of weed, out of money and if he had to spend one more night on the floor of his bloody dealer's flat, getting fucked into the cheap peeling linoleum just so he could get a fix, he was going to kill _someone_. At least if it was himself he wouldn't have to deal with the mess.

He was sitting on some bins and even with his hands shaking from the withdrawal he could still plant a bullet through the forehead of any alley cat foolish enough to get in sight. He had shot seven so far that day. Each thump of a warm bleeding body onto the ground made him yearn for India. He missed the tigers.

A sleek black cat hoped down the fire escape at the far end of the alley. It was clearly an escaped pet, not a stray. The was a tiny bell that hung around it's neck, jingling as it loped easily down the stairs, proved that. Seb aimed the handgun. It was a horrible little gun, cheap and unreliable. He had stolen it off the corpse some thug who tried to mug him a few weeks back. That had been a mistake on the thug's part.

He took a deep breath, shoving down his hunger and dizziness. He didn't remember the last time he had eaten. It was before his last fix, and that was already two days ago. One more breath and he gently squeezed the trigger. The cat dropped.

"Ooooo very good shot, though I imagine little Molly will wonder what ever happened to Jinxy," a bubbling Irish voice slithered down the alley. Seb turned and saw a man, small, wiry, leaning against the wall. His features were slightly obscured, but Seb wasn't sure if that was because he was framed by the light from the street, or just more withdrawal symptoms. Jesus, he needed a fix.

Seb checked his gun. Dammit, only one bullet left. If he shot the man, he'd have none left for himself. He'd only shoot the man if he absolutely had to then.

"Tell me, do you miss hunting tigers, Colonel Moran?" The question came like a taunt. "Alley cats must seem like a far cry. A little...mmm...desperate, yes?"

"How do you know my name?" Sebastian pushed himself off bins and tried to balance on his feet. He felt grimy. He hadn't properly bathed all week, too tweaked out to bother for the first half, and to racked with pain for the rest to care. "Did Rogers send you? I'll get him his fucking money soon enough. You tell him that."

"Do I look like I'm some messenger boy for a dealer? How quaint. Ew, no." The man walked closer. He was in a nice suit. Too nice for this part of town for sure. "Sebastian Moran. Father in government. Oxford drop out. Dishonorable discharge from military service in Iraq. Suspected of slitting a superior officer's throat. Ran off to India where you poached tigers before you were found shipped home to Mother Britannia. Father bailed you out, but no longer keeps in touch. No one will hire you. Lost your apartment last month. And now you murder pussy cats to keep from killing yourself. What a disgusting waste of talent." A manic smile spread across the man's face as he listed off Sebastian's life as though he were reading a grocery list, and Sebastian remembered the tigers. "What a tragedy."

"They could never prove I slit the pig's throat," Seb replied, watching the man warily. His hand gripped the gun tightly.

"Of course not, no, no. You're far too good for that," the man said and held out his hand. "That's why I'm here actually. You are very talented, aren't you? Jim Moriarty. How would you like a job?"

"What kind of job?"

"The kind where you get to hunt something a little bigger than pussy cats."

X

Things happened very quickly after that. Moriarty was able to throw a lot of money at him very quickly. Suddenly Sebastian had an apartment in a decent part of town, new haircut, new clothes, and a new gun. Several new guns in fact, all top of the line and clearly stolen from the military.

He kicked the heroin, because it was hard to work while he was on it and harder when he wanted it and didn't have it. He kept smoking cigarettes though, because why the hell not?

Most people would say he was turning his life around, except that now he killed people for James Moriarty. Most people would consider that...well...bad. Honestly, it wasn't that different from being in the military, killing people for money. Now the orders just came in on a cellular phone and he got paid better.

It felt good to hold a decent weapon again. Sebastian had always been taken with violence, and going on jobs for the boss certainly gave him plenty of time to relish the pain of others.

"Now, let me look at you," James Moriarty, in his suit, looking flash as usual, walked over to him. He placed both his hands on Sebastian's chest and ran them down along the hem lines of the clothes. They were new, and expensive. Sebastian had grown up with money, and he knew how much money could be spent of clothes if you cared about that sort of thing, but even he was impressed by the amount of cash his new boss had dropped on this ensemble.

The thing was that it didn't even look like an impressive outfit. The suits Moriarty had bought him looked far flashier. This was just a pair of jeans, though they were designer, very sturdy and comfortable and hugged his arse in just the right ways; a white dress shirt, functional but pricey; and a military inspired jacket tailored special for him. He could get on the tube and no one would look twice at the clothes, but damn they made him look good. That seemed to be the idea.

"Much better. That sewer rat look was an affront to nature," Moriarty said, tilting his head back and forth. Sebastian shrugged and didn't answer. It wasn't like his 'dying in a gutter with a heroin addiction' look was voluntary, but Moriarty seemed convinced that Sebastian had no taste. He had lost all wardrobe autonomy the moment he entered Moriarty's service.

"Think you could kill a man a kilometer away in these clothes, Sebastian?" Moriarty asked with a mad grin. It was the kind of grin that made blood rush to Sebastian's groin.

"With that sexy AI L115A3 rifle you got me, boss? The crate of .300 Winchester Magnus cartridges? I could kill a man at two and a half kilometers if you needed me too," Sebastian said. He let himself smile slightly, feeling cocky, but it was a damn nice gun.

"Good. Gooooooooood. You get to prove it. Go get your gun and meet me in the car."

x

Sebastian was pretty sure that his boss was either the most insane man on the planet, or possessed by the devil. Both seemed fairly likely. That bugger in North Korea had nothing on Moriarty. Still, Seb doesn't complain.

His job seemed to be a mix of messenger boy and assassin. Some times he was delivering letters or packages, passing along Moriarty's "love" to his clients. Some times he was spending his day perched with his rifle waiting for that perfect, adrenaline filled moment when he got to blow a hole in someone's head. He had money again. He even had some measure of self respect.

Today was a fun day.

"I have a present for you, 'Bastian," Moriarty was in the doorway of his kitchen. Sebastian had been cooking breakfast, a half burned cheese omelet and some toast. He hadn't heard the man come in. It had been alarming the first few times his boss had done it, but Seb was getting used to it now. He was acclimating to the devil, wonderful.

"Breakfast, boss?" Seb offered.

Moriarty glanced at his frying pan with some disdain. "I'll pass, thanks. But listen, I have a present for you. A job you'll like."

"Not my job to like the jobs, boss," Sebastian replied stoically.

"Yes, yes, good answer. But you really will like this one." Moriarty walked over to him and ran a well manicured finger down his chest. The action was hotter than it really should have been. The madness the seemed to radiate from the man was nearly intoxicating. The Irish bleeding into his voice slightly was nearly erotic. "There's a drug ring I want gone. Kill the leader."

"Sounds like a normal job, boss."

"Oh, but you know this one. Anthony Rogers. Kill him for me. Bring me his fingernails in a bag. You can do that for me, can't you?"

Anthony Rogers, Seb thought and couldn't help but chuckle. How many times had he gone to Rogers, shaking from withdrawal, close to vomiting, needing a fix? How many times had that fucker made him suck his cock for just enough heroin to make the tremors stop? How many times had he wished he could make the man beg for his life and then kill him anyway?

"Happy Birthday Sebastian," Moriarty said. "Don't enjoy yourself too much," he waggled his eyebrows, turned and sauntered away.

X

Seb found himself falling into a kind of rhythm with his new life. He woke up early every day before the sun rose and put on a pot of the cheap harsh coffee that he learned to drink in Iraq. While it brewed he took a long hot shower, the one indulgence from his childhood that he had been deprived since the military and his following poverty.

Then he would check his phone for any orders from Moriarty. If he had any he would get ready, if he didn't, he'd go get a beer and smoke while watching the telly. It was a pretty good life.

That day he was laying across the floor, with Moriarty right beside him in the the second floor of an abandoned flat, sniper rifle trained on a fifth story window across the street, waiting for the mark to appear. Moriarty rarely, if ever, was actually around when he did a kill. Very often it was just a phone call before and after the event to confirm things went to plan. Sometimes though, Sebastian thought that Moriarty just wanted to watch someone die, and so he tagged along. It's not like Seb could say no.

Moriarty idly ran his fingers through Seb's hair, leaning on Sebastian's back, like he was daring him to complain. Seb generally did not speak unless he was spoken to, or if what he had to say was really important. It wasn't even like he minded the feeling of those thin fingers running along his scalp. He had figured out that his boss was a rather touchy feely person when he was in his good moods, and a homicidal violent demon when he wasn't.

"I'm bored," Moriarty sighed, and his chest heaved, temporarily shaking the gun.

"Don't speak. You're messing up my aim."

"Oh, meow, Sebastian. You're so catty. I'm just booooored," Moriarty drew out the 'o' and made a face like a child. Sebastian could tell the man really was getting antsy though. He had learned that his boss did not handle boredom well.

"I mean it. You're shaking the whole damn gun." He sensed his boss was about to protest again when he quickly hushed him. "Stop. There he is. Don't breath." Moriarty went very still, hands knotted in Sebastian's hair as they both watched the man enter the line of sight in the window.

Sebastian took a deep breath and held it, and it was like he was back in India again. He could smell the forest, hear the rain on foliage, taste the nearness of the great cat. All stripes and power, teeth and fur. The adrenaline pumped through him, making his eyes go dark, pupils dilate. This is the hunt, the thrill, and he could feel James Moriarty rigid against him, heart beat close to his own.

As he breathed out he pulled the trigger, and the man in the window dropped amongst a halo of blood.

Moriarty let out a deep sigh, and Sebastian felt the man relax against him. He made a sound halfway between a laugh and a moan. The sound slivered all the way down Seb's spine right to his toes.

Sebastian sat up and took another deep breath. A woman screamed across the street, no doubt having just found the body.

Very slowly and carefully he began to dismantle the gun, because with a weapon this nice one has to take care of it. Each piece came apart and went into his case, and the case went in the duffel. He would clean every bit of it in detail later, but the police would be there in a few minutes and it would be best if they were gone when that happened. The Detective Inspector in London might be an idiot, but surely two men with a duffel leaving an abandoned building across the street from their crime scene would get some attention, right?

He stood up and shouldered the duffel. He looked down at Moriarty still sitting on the ground. He had a blissful smile on his face, like the death had given him a high. He was licking his lips ever so slowly, eyes dark and half lidded.

"Boss, we should go," he said and held his hand out to the smaller man. Moriarty grabbed his wrist and held it tight, squeezing it but not standing up.

"Your pulse hasn't changed," he said with a giddy laugh at the end. "It doesn't even bother you. You like it. You aren't scared. Cold blooded killer."

"I've killed plenty of people, boss. That's why you hired me, yeah? Now come on. The cops are on their way."

"Very good," he said and pulled himself up. He brushed off his suit, and off they went. Sebastian drove, because his boss's driving was likely to get them pulled over for reckless endangerment, and even Sebastian had to draw a line at purposefully scaring pedestrians by riding half on the sidewalk.

He drove to Moriarty's flat, or the flat where Sebastian went to when Moriarty demanded a face to face meeting at least. He wouldn't be surprised if the man had another secret flat somewhere else in the city. He parked the car and stepped out. He'd take the tube back to his own place, like always. Moriarty grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and smirked.

"You do whatever I say, yeah?" Moriarty asked him, tilting his head to the side. His voice was low and playful, and for the first time Sebastian found himself wondering if it wasn't just killing, but also killers that get his boss horny.

"Is that an invitation to your bedroom?" Sebastian generally knew when he's being hit on. Normal people have signs, but those same signs could just as easily mean that his boss wanted to pluck out his eyes with a spork. It was a genuine question.

"No, no, don't be dull. It's not an invitation," Moriarty laughed. "It's an order. Come," he said and pulled Sebastian upstairs.

Sebastian didn't even have a chance to look around and admire the flat before Moriarty's body was pressed against his, hands tugging painfully at his hair to drag him down into a kiss. Sebastian had to admit, he was getting into this. He didn't really find his boss drop dead sexy or anything. The man scared him, but that was fun in its own way. The raw energy that rolled off the man made Sebastian curious to see just how much that bloodlust would translate into bed. He could get into that.

He shoved the man back against the wall of the flat. "Boss," he breathed as his kisses moved to the man's neck. He bit down, tasting the salt on his skin.

"Oh come now. I'm going to let you fuck me. Call me Jim." Moriarty, though Sebastian was already switching out the name for Jim mentally, wrapped his legs around his waist. There was a manic gleam in his eye.

"Jim," Sebastian's lip curled as he spoke his name. "Well, Jim, tell me, where in this flat do you want me to fuck you first?"

"Oooo, the big boy is eager now. Daddy likes," Jim laughed and bit down hard on Sebastian's neck. It drew a moan from him. "You're always so stoic. Time to let you loose, Tiger."

"That's not an answer, Jim."

"Whatever surface is closest," Jim hissed in his ear, sending another tremor of lust through him.

That turned out to be the the kitchen counter. Sebastian worked quickly, stripping the man of his expensive suit, throwing it on the floor rumpled. Jim was pressed back against a rack of wine glasses, his head lulled against the overhead counter. Naked, he looked even frailer than normal, his skin nearly translucent under the artificial lights. Sebastain couldn't wait to paint that skin with some bruises and bite marks.

X

Sebastian was sitting on his fire escape, smoking. Jim, as usual, came into his flat silently and appeared next to him. Neither said anything for a long time. Sebastian had nothing to say unless Jim spoke first. Neither of them felt the need to fill the silence with empty meaningless words. Around them, the mist rose up from the Thames, and the city grew muggy in the London damp.

Jim laid his head on Sebastian's shoulder, and began answering his emails idly on his phone.

"One day," he said softly. "One day, I'll burn this city." He shifted, moving to his knees. He wrapped his arms around Sebastian's neck, and brushed his lips against the tender part of his ear. Jim's breath was warm against his skin. Each breath sent spirals of tingles through his nerves.

"You'd be sitting there too, with the only fire extinguisher that could put out that fire. And you'd sell it to the Queen for all the wealth in the nation," Sebastian replied with a smirk.

"Mmmm. Bastian, you aren't very clever yourself, but you do know how my mind works. I'd wear that bitch's crown every single day. I'd look bloody fabulous."

Sebastian laughed. "You sure would, Jim. You sure would."

x

This job didn't sit quite well with him. Sebastian had done a lot of awful things in his life, but he had never willing shot anyone under the age of six before. The kid wasn't even smart enough to look properly scared. Looking scared made people look more like animals. This kid was sitting there, tied to a chair with so much Semtex that he could take out a bus strapped to him and he just looked bored, utterly human and bored. He kept kicking his feet back and forth idly, looking around, too tired to cry anymore.

Sebastian actually hoped that Holmes would figure out why the painting was a fake in time, because a job like this was actually making him feel a little sick.

"Did you really have to pick a kid?" Sebastian muttered into his ear piece.

"Oh quiet, Bastian," Jim snapped on the other end of the line. He could tell Jim was getting antsy. Maybe Holmes wouldn't get it, and wouldn't that just spoil the game, wouldn't that just prove that Holmes was never worthy of playing with at all?

"No, I mean it. This is fucked up."

"Bastian, you will do as you are told."

"Jim," but there was still a twinge of protest in his voice.

"Moran!" His earpiece crackled. "I found you rotting in a gutter, and without me that's where you'll end up again!" Jim was screaming, his anger flaring up in and instant. "You get the signal, you blow that kid sky high, dammit. And you'll do it with a fucking smile or I'll skin you."

"...Yes, sir," Sebastian said stoically. "Sorry, Jim," he added, because he had angered his boss, but he had also upset his boyfriend. It wasn't fair of him to forget that Jim was, and always would be a psychopath, no matter how much Sebastian tried to pacify him in his mind.

Love does that to people; tries to make them into something they are not, tries to make them better than they are. Jim was a spider, and no matter how..._attached_ Sebastian found himself becoming, it wouldn't do well to forget that.

X

One aspect of his job that Sebastian really didn't like was when Jim actually wanted to meet a client face to face and dragged him along. It meant that he had to get ponied up in the suit Jim had bought for him. Though it fit well and looked good, Seb felt like a monkey in a suit, trailing behind Jim like a common body guard.

At least this business deal seemed to be coming together quickly. They were in some dingy French hotel room that smelled of old cheese. Seb wanted to go home, or at least back to the somewhat nice hotel that they had been staying in across town.

Madhi Asir was a nobody weapons dealer who was quickly headed towards regional dominance with a little help from the Moriarty touch. The man was in his early fifties, wore a cheap suit and expensive aftershave and looked suitably terrified of Jim.

He did however keeping looking over at Sebastian with hungry, sweeping looks that lingered on the small of his back and the nape of his neck. Sebastian ignored it. It didn't seem of any real relevance to him. Lots of men and women stared at him when he went out in public these days, thanks to Jim's fashion choices.

Jim shook Asir's hand, his eyes piercing and cold. None of his goofy, bouncy energy shone through his eyes at all. As Jim turned to walk away, Asir turned to him and gave him what Seb assumed was supposed to be a seductive smile. He held out his hand. Sebastian took it grudgingly. He didn't want to fuck up Jim's business plans or anything by being rude.

"It was good to meet you," Asir said and slipped his business card into the front pocket of Sebastian's coat. "Hopefully, I will hear from you again."

Sebastian gave a small noncommittal sound and silently hoped that he wouldn't just before the gun sounded.

It took Sebastian a moment to realize what had happened. He had stumbled back at the gun shot and Asir dropped dead, blood spraying everywhere. _What the hell was that,_ he wondered. American FBI? Local authorities? Mercenaries? His brain spun with the possibilities as he turned to Jim.

Jim was standing there, holding a gun in his hand, eyes still cold. He sagged slightly, as though the tension was leaving his body. He smiled lazily, and held the gun out to him. "You can have this back now. I borrowed it without asking. Sorry," he said in a sing song voice.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Sebastian said, dead pan. He was angry, yes, but also stunned. "We just spent the whole damn morning making business deals with that bastard and you just killed him?"

"Mmmmm yes," Jim said and shrugged. "Let's go."

"Jim, you selfish son of a..." Seb took a deep calming breath. "Will you at least tell me why you shot him?"

"Nope." Jim shrugged. "Let's go. I won't ask again." He turned and walked out of the room, each step snapping on the ground.

Sebastian went out to the car and began to drive them back to the hotel. Both of them were silent for most of the ride. Sebastian was preoccupied with the horrible French traffic. As they pulled into the parking lot though, Jim spoke.

"He was trying to seduce you, ya know. You should thank me for killing him."

"I'm not bothered by people attempting to seduce me, Jim. I'm a big boy, not a damn princess."

"...mmmmm, yes but...well...he was boring anyway."

Sebastian put the car into park. "Jim? Were you...jealous?" The idea was so ridiculous that Sebastian almost laughed at it. Jim Moriarty, jealous? Jealous because some over the hill gangster gave him a lecherous look and shook his hand? But Jim just huffed at that and looked away. Sebastian smiled slightly, trying not to look too amused. "James Moriarty, were you acting out of jealousy?"

"Leave it Seb. I'm hungry. Go get me ice cream. I want mint chocolate chip."

"Jim," Sebastian let out a laugh, because it was actually kind of cute. "Yeah, I'll do that," he said and got out of the car. "I'll get some beer too."

He thought about it all the way to the store and back, trying not to laugh out loud. There were days when Sebastian was fairly sure that Jim didn't give a shit about him, but then he goes off and shoots a man out of jealousy. It was part of the bipolar disorder, Sebastian was sure, but it was actually rather...endearing.

When he got back to the hotel, Jim was sitting on the bed, furiously typing on his mobile. Sebastian offered up the carton of ice cream and cracked open a beer.

He sat down next to Jim and roughly ran his hand through Jim's short hair. He laid his chin on Jim's shoulder and breathed in his smell, vanilla soap and expensive cigarettes.

"You didn't have to shoot him, Jim."

"I never have to do anything, Bastian. I do what I _want._"

"I know Jim, but...you know you don't have to worry about me being interested in other people." But Jim didn't say anything to that. He just tensed up slightly. "Don't you? Jim, you do know that don't you?"

Jim simply snorted. Sebastian let out a sigh. The most dangerous man in all of Britain, possibly the world, was acting like a jealous insecure teenager over him, and Sebastian was trying his best not to get overly affectionate because of it.

"Jim, you little nutter. I'm not going to run off. Especially not with a guy like Asir."

Jim pulled away slightly and looked at him. His eyes were completely dark and blank. There was something missing there, some crucial part of his soul that made a person a person. "People always say they won't leave." His voice was so soft that Sebastian felt something in his heart twinge. He forgot at times that Jim wasn't just a fucked up person. He was also a broken person.

"...would it help if I said I loved you?" Sebastian replied softly.

"Sentiment," Jim snorted and looked away again, but a small smile did flit over his face. "What a ridiculous weakness. I'm disappointed in to you, Bastian." He let out a small laugh though, his bout of sullenness seemingly passed.

"Right," Sebastian said and took a chug of his beer. He couldn't help but smile as well though.

X

"I can't believe we're actually watching this show..." Sebastian groaned.

"I need to know what happens so I can talk to Molly about it, Bastian. It's part of the game," Jim said, nestled next to him on the sofa with a bowl of popcorn on his lap.

"Do I have to watch it though?" Sebastian could think of a hundred things he would rather do with his evening than this.

"Shut up. It's starting. If you make me miss a single moment with Kurt and Blaine, I swear I'll turn your teeth into a necklace," Jim hissed as _Glee_ started. Sebastian once again worried about Jim's sanity.

X

Sebastian hated working with teams. It was always such a pain working in groups. He had detested group work as a child and he detested it now. It was bad enough when it was only a bottle of glitter and use of glue sticks at stake. Now, the wrong people could die if things went south in a hurry. Jim had wanted to really put on a show though, and that required multiple snipers on the roof, and that left him, Colonel Moran, in charge of the troops.

He had the main team of four snipers arranged around the upper level of the pool so they could get multiple rifles on John Watson from any angle. One man was downstairs, keeping the doctor under a careful eye until "show time." Two more were walking the perimeter of the roof, keeping an eye out for when Holmes arrived. It was a pain in the arse.

"No, no, no," Sebastian muttered as he walked up to one of the snipers getting his gun ready. This guy was a mess. He was clearly nervous, shaking as he tried to assemble his weapon. "You've got to be kidding me. You. What's your name?"

The man looked up at him, not even trying to mask his anxiety. "Thomas, Colonel. Thomas Kingston." The guy had to barely be out of college, and his every move screamed 'nervous rookie.'

"Well, Thomas Kingston, put your gun up. I'm not letting any fucking rookies who can't stop their hands from shaking hold a weapon under my command. I only want a gun fired when I give the order, not because you got jumpy and let your finger slip. You're on patrol duty. Now," Sebastian said firmly.

The man looked like he might protest, but was smart enough to decide against it. All the men on the team were, rightfully, frightened of him.

Jim should know better than to hire some freakin' kid for his team. Sebastian would make him pay for that later. He got on his radio. "Team. Holmes should be here at midnight. It's half eleven now. When the show starts I want this to run like clockwork. If anyone fucks up, at all, I will personally shoot you in the temple. We are now on radio silence until further notice." He had to admit, it did feel kind of good to bark orders though.

The radio in his hand crackled to life. "Oooooo, 'Bastian." It was Jim.

"Boss, you're breaking the radio silence..." Sebastian sighed.

"Mmmmm, yes. Well. I just wanted ask you, when we're done here, I want you to go to the store and pick me up some ice cream, yes?"

"...yes, boss. Now, we have work to do."

"I just can't wait for show time!" Jim laughed like a madman on the radio and it all went eerily silent.

x

Before Sebastian dropped out of Oxford he had taken a literature class that he had actually enjoyed a good deal. One quote especially from F. Scott Fitzgerald had really stuck with him._ "They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered." _Never had a quote so perfectly described his relationship with Jim Moriarty.

Nothing was more intimate that tying Jim to his own bed, leaving claw marks on his chest, running the blade of a knife down his thighs so he bleeds in the most delicate thin lines and then fucking him until he forgets his name, or letting Jim do the same to him.

They never really recovered from it either. Sebastian can't remember the last time he was able to walk without tiny knife marks stinging under his clothes. He doesn't mind either. The pain is a constant reminder that Jim owns him now, body and soul. He had been claimed, and he rather liked that.

x

"Sebastian, I'm bored. Entertain me with tales of your childhood."

Sebastian was laying in Jim's bed, wrists still raw from chaffing against his hand cuffs, smoking a cigarette. The nicotine burned pleasantly through him in the post sex bliss. Jim laid on his side next to him, typing away on his mobile.

"My childhood?" Sebastian repeated quizzically.

"Tell me about the first time you watched someone die." Jim's voice was sing song.

Not for the first time, Sebastian realizes that he knew very little about Jim. He knew Jim was from Sussex, or at least lived there for a while when he was young because of the Karl Powers incident. He knew that Jim either spent a good deal of time in Ireland, or his parents had because of that tell tale slip in his accent when he got really flirty. He knew that Jim is a few screws short and dangerously unhinged, but that's it.

Part of his brain, the smart part, informed Sebastian that he shouldn't want to know more and shouldn't ask. Jim was bipolar, and any sentence uttered in front of him ran the risk of setting him off. Asking personal questions was not a smart move. The other part of Sebastian's brain wished he knew what the hell happened to Jim to make him so volatile, or if he had always been that way. Evil baby Jim, biting nipples until they bled and stealing the other children's pacifiers, what a thought.

After all, what kind of man asks his boyfriend that question in bed?

Sebastian took another long drag on his cigarette. "It's not a happy story Jim. It's not me being a badass or anything," he told him, because it really wasn't a pleasant memory. Most people assumed his first run in with death was in the war, but they are wrong.

"Oh come on," Jim rolled over, lulling his head to the side as he spoke. "Tell me about the first time you watched a human life end." He grinned as he said it, his eyes dark and wide, eye brows arching in his faux innocent way. "Pleeeeease?"

"Oh, fine. I got kidnapped when I was fourteen," Sebastian began, knowing he had no choice in the matter. "My father was a diplomat, you know. My older brother and I went to a fancy boarding school out in the country. Normally we had a car sent for us at the end of term, full of body guards and the like, but this year...well, Robert was 17 now and he demanded to stop being treated like a child. Demanded that our parents let us take the train back to London and then have the car pick us up there so he could spend a few more hours with his mates. My parents adored Robert, and they agreed."

"Lemme guess, you never made it off the train?" Jim was grinning and placed both his hands on Sebastian's chest. His phone had been tossed aside.

"Never even made it _on_ the train. We were waiting at the station with all our school friends and then...smell of chloroform and it all goes black."

"Mmmmm this is a good story." Jim laid his head on Sebastian's chest, nails running over his nipples.

"Are you going to keep interrupting, Jim?" Sebastian asked, because even though he had tried to emotionally distance himself from his childhood, this one story still nagged at him like a splinter that never healed. "I woke up in some ratty hotel somewhere. Robert was tied up next to me, wrists, elbows, knees and ankles. Neither of us could move. We weren't going to try though. We weren't stupid. They were going to ransom us. Some absurd amount. Nine hundred thousand quid for the both of us."

Jim gave a low whistle.

"My parents were willing to pay. Of course they were, and it wasn't like they couldn't get the money. We should have gotten out of there fine. But..." Sebastian had to take a moment there, because the memory was getting painful around the edges. "There was a rookie on the team. Some damn kid who didn't know what he had gotten into," Sebastian said. He could still remember the damn thug's face, sweating, shaking, nervous." He kept cursing under his breath 'oh shit, oh shit' over and over. He couldn't have been more than twenty and had probably never done anything worse than a drug deal before then."

He could feel Jim's cock give a twitch against his thigh. "What happened next?" Jim asked, eyes wide, like this was his favourite fairy tale.

"The guy's hands were shaking. He'd never done a job like this. He shouldn't have even been holding a gun, and they had him guarding us. Making sure we didn't try to run. And..." He took a deep lungful of nicotine. He tried to think of the jungle, of India, to help him forget. India was his safe place. "Something must have startled the guy. A door slamming. A car alarm. Who knows. I don't remember. I just remember the gun shot."

"Ooooo!" Jim said gleefully, his cock giving another little twitch. Sebastian ignored him. Jim got off on death and blood. It was a quirk that Sebastian normally liked. Not right now though.

"He shot Robert right in the head, the jumpy bastard. Started screaming. Robert was dead before he hit the floor." Sebastian was pretty sure he had screamed too, fairly certain he had cried and vomited on the floor. All the thugs had started yelling, cursing. Dammit, half their hostages were gone now. Look at the damn mess. The smell of the blood and brains and Robert's eye half blown out of his ruined skull because the guy hadn't been aiming and it hadn't been a clean shot. Sebastian had nightmares about it for years, and no amount of therapy had ever seemed to help. Only going off to war, only becoming a killer himself had finally made the images fade from his dreams.

"They didn't tell my parents Robert was dead until after they paid," Sebastian continued, "All nine hundred thousand quid and they got me and a corpse wrapped in a blanket. I couldn't help thinking that my father probably felt like he had paid too much money to_ only_ get me back."

He had to take a second to breath there, to let the memory fade again.

"Awww, and now dear little Sebby is a gun for hire." Jim was laughing. Sebastian was well aware that Jim was a psychopath. He had a hard time with empathy and had no desire to even attempt it. That didn't make Sebastian want to fucking clock him any less.

"Do you ever wonder if they wished it was you who got shot and not Robert?" Jim continued and bit his lip playfully, like it was all a joke.

"Jim," Sebastian said in a low warning tone.

"Ya know, since you got disinherited and all? Maybe Robert wouldn't have slit his commanding officer's throat in Iraq."

"Fuck yourself Jim."

"Awwww, tender subject?" Jim laughed again, high and manic. It was his damn mood swings, his damn boredom, driving him to the edges of insanity. There he was, laughing at the memory of him watching his older brother take a bullet when he was just a kid.

"Fuck off," he growled.

"So, bad time for a 'boom, headshot' joke?"

"Jim!"

"The first person I ever saw die, I killed. Karl Powers." Jim was a little stiller at that, smiling at the memory. "I poisoned him and watched him drown. Well, not technically drown. It was the poison that got him, not the water. You know what I mean. I was eight."

Sebastian didn't say anything. Jim crawled on top of him, straddling his hips. His cock, half hard, twitched on Sebastian's stomach. Jim grinned down at him with a mad smile. "So I win."

"Congratulations, you little shit." Sebastian finished off his cigarette, leaving just the still smoldering filter in his hand. He always smoked the damn things down to the very end, an old habit from the war. He gave a small sneer and took out a bit of his frustration on Jim by snuffing out the burning nub on the inside of Jim's thigh.

Jim laughed as the stub burned into his skin with a sizzle, letting his head lull back and his cock stiffened. "You are a funner fuck when you're angry, Bastian," Jim hissed. "My turn in the cuffs maybe?"

Sebastian gave a small growl, but he couldn't refuse. He never could.

X

"Oh, it's just you today?" The woman asked. They were meeting in a Parisian cafe. She sat in her blood red dress, sipping a latte, looking like sin. "Shame."

Sebastian sat across from her. "He's a bit tied up in Budapest at the moment, Miss Adler. He does, however, send his love. I'm here to collect what you promised him on the phone."

"Ah, of course. That wasn't a bad time, was it?"

"Well, I did have a sniper rifle aimed at John Watson covered in explosives. You could have picked a better time."

The woman let a grin crawl across her face. "I bet Sherly-boy hated that, didn't he?"

Sebastian tried to bite down on any visible annoyance he felt. Irene Adler; _The Woman._ Jim was amused by her, and she was useful, but Lord help him, she grated on Sebastian's nerves. It was something about how convinced she was of her own attractiveness, a kind of vanity that he found repulsive. Jim just told him he was too gay to function and not complain about a woman so useful whenever he brought it up though, so he tried to ignore it. (He also made an effort to ignore Jim when he quoted American comedy movies that Molly Hooper no doubt had made him watch.)

"I'm sure that Mr. Holmes was rather unhappy with his companion being made into a breathing pipe bomb. Now, Miss Adler, you told Moriarty that you-"

"Is he good, do you think? Holmes. What an odd man. Moriarty calls him _The Virgin_. I wonder if that's true."

"I have no opinion on the mater, Miss Adler."

"Right, of course you don't."

"Miss Adler, I'm only going to ask you one more time," Sebastian said testily.

The woman laughed. "Okay, okay then. Goodness, you're no fun at all," she said and reached into her bag. She pulled out an index card with a series of numbers and letters written on it. "The thing has me at a loss. I'm going to let Sherlock Holmes have a look at it soon enough though. If anyone can solve this little riddle, it will be him."

Sebastian took the card and pocketed it, and stood up.

"I can see why Moriarty likes you," Irene said. Sebastian could hear her grinning. "You don't mess around with all the boring things like manners and small talk. I bet you're a beast in the bedroom too. Moriarty is a lucky man."

Sebastian tried not to roll his eyes. "Keep in touch, Miss Adler. Any progress with Holmes should be reported."

"Of course," she said and went back to her latte.

X

Some days it felt like he was...becoming Jim. Like Jim was crawling inside his mind. He'd think things that Jim would think, laugh at things Jim would laugh at.

He'd be with a team, doing some job, and just when he'd pull the trigger he'd laugh and say "Boom. Headshot." All the boys on the team would stare at him like he was a demon.

It was to be expected though, wasn't it? He fell in love with the devil.

X

There were some days when Sebastian came home to Jim dancing around his flat to music. Sometimes it was the Bee-Gees. Sometimes The Clash. Once it was Elton John. The music selection was unpredictable, oh so changeable, and the volume was always too loud. Those were good days though.

Jim spun through the flat and threw himself at Sebastian, laughing and cackling, threading his fingers through his hair.

There were other days when Sebastian came home to find Jim breaking things, ranting, bleeding because he punched his hand through a mirror. Those were bad days.

Jim hit him and cursed and made phone calls until someone, somewhere in the world died a painful death to appease him, like a wrathful god of death.

x

One night he came home and Jim was raging through his flat. It was one of his days off, and he had spent it in front of the telly. Between reruns of _A bit of Fry and Laurie_ Sebastian had gone out to buy a case of beer and came back to find James Moriarty with a bleeding hand slicing his sofa to ribbons.

"Jim?" Sebastian sighed and put his beer on the kitchen table. He had done things like this before, but the collateral damage was normally reserved for mirrors and wine glasses. Sebastian wasn't sure what his sofa had done to offend Jim, but it was paying for whatever indiscretion it was guilty of with interest. "Can I ask what that pillow did to piss you off?"

Jim was shaking all over. Blood oozed from between his lips, and Sebastian guessed the man may have bitten his own tongue. He turned on Sebastian, the fires of hell blazing in his eyes. "Don't you give me that sarcastic tone, Moran. I could kill you in more ways with a coast hanger than you're capable of even imagining."

Sebastian raised both his hands in surrender and walked over to him. "Yeah, Jim. I know. How about you give me that knife?"

Jim let out a terrifying snarl. "I told you not to condensed to me, Moran!" Jim turned and slashed at the wall with the pocket knife in his hand. The wallpaper split. "I'm just so...why is everyone else on the planet so stupid?"

Sebastian took a step closer and placed his hands on Jim's waist. "Hey. Hey, come on." He turned the man to face him forcibly. "Jim."

Jim gritted his teeth and stabbed the knife into Sebastian's fore arm, right by the elbow. The pain shot up Sebastian's arm like fire. Jim had missed his major arteries at least, but he could already feel the blood pouring down his arm. He didn't move though. The adrenaline and the shock had numbed his arm almost instantly, but that wouldn't last long. He didn't react. He just held Jim there. Jim was breathing hard, hand still gripping the knife that dug into his arm.

"Heh...oops." Jim pulled the knife out of Sebastian's arm at last and cleared his throat. "Seems I got away from myself for a minute there." He ran a hand over his face, surveying the damage he had done. Whatever madness had taken him seemed to have passed again. He tossed the knife aside and gave Sebastian one of his 'Woopsie' looks.

Sebastian let out a sigh. "I'm going to take a shower," he said. Jim didn't stop him as he walked off to his bathroom. It was important to get the wound clean as quickly as possible. He stripped out of all his clothes except the dog tags that he never took off, and drew a hot shower. He let the water pour over him, washing the blood away.

Sebastian knew that this behavior should bother him. A normal person would quit this crazy job, and dump his crazy boyfriend and never look back. For fuck's sake, he just got stabbed. Somehow though, Sebastian just didn't seem to mind.

He got out of the shower, wrapped his damaged arm up in bandages, and grabbed a bottle of Vicodin out of his medicine cabinet. Bottle in hand, he went back to the living room. Jim was sitting on the ruined sofa, inspecting the blood on the knife closely. Jim gave him a grin when he walked in, naked and dripping wet. "Mmm. Just the dog tags. My favourite look."

Sebastian slumped down on the sofa next to Jim. "Also bloodied, your other favourite." He tried to open the bottle of pain killers, but his hand was beginning to sting with pain. The pain was spreading through his entire arm. At least Jim had stabbed the left arm. He could still shoot. He was having a hell of a time trying to open the bloody childproof bottle though.

Jim shifted, moving to Sebastian's waist. He straddled him and plucked the bottle out of Sebastian's hands. The bath water soaked into his clothes. He poured two little pills onto his palm and held them out. "Say 'aaa' for your medicine, Bastian," he said with a mad grin.

Sebastian obediently opened his mouth and dry swallowed the pills.

Jim ran his hands down Sebastian's face, to his neck, shoulders and down his arms. His finger tips skimmed over his skin delicately, and paused when they reached his freshly bandaged stab wound. The bandages were already pink with blood. "Mmmm. You are so pretty when you're bloody." Jim said.

He squeezed his hand around the wound hard, making Sebastian give an involuntary yelp. The bandages went from pink to red as more blood rushed up at the pressure.

"Dammit Jim!" Sebastian growled. Still, he wrapped his arms around Jim's waist and held him tight against his chest. "You're...such a fucker..." He took a deep breath.

"Bastian...I'm going to need you to kill someone for me. In the morning, once you've rested," Jim said and slowly threaded his fingers through the man's hair.

"Sure thing, Jim," Sebastian said with a sigh.

x

"I'm a bit of a Slytherin, aren't I?" Jim said. They were sitting in Sebastian's flat. Jim had been silent for hours. Sebastian assumed he had been watching the TV, which was flipped to the news and muted. He had been busy sitting cross-legged on the floor cleaning his rifle.

"I don't know what that means," Sebastian said. He didn't follow pop culture at all.

"You're a bit of a Hufflepuff," Jim said and started humming some unknown tune.

"I don't know what that means, Jim," Sebastian repeated. He kept the majority of his attention on his gun.

"You're very loyal."

"If you say so."

"Very hard-working."

"Mhm"

"Not very clever, though."

Sebastian just let out a sigh and shook his head. "Yes, Jim. Not as clever as you."

"No...but then no one is." Jim laughed and leaned over to run his fingers through his hair. "But I don't want someone clever. I just want my Sebastian. Always loyal. Well, at least until I get bored of you," Jim said in a flippant voice. Sebastian just rolled his eyes and paid him no mind.

X

"I should be in a place where I'll be able to see you," Sebastian said, leaning against the wall of the stairwell that Jim had brought him to. He was smoking the last cigarette he would smoke for hours. No good smoking on a job.

"Aaaaah, come now, 'Bastian. You'll have the easiest shot at Watson this way." Jim was in a strange mood. He seemed almost upset that he was about to win his game. Oh yes, he was winning, but Sebastian knew it was a game he enjoyed playing. Sebastian had a hard time reading Jim in these moods, and he wished that he would be perched in a spot where he would actually be able to see Jim on the roof.

"I don't need an easy shot. What if you need me, Jim?"

"Need you? Boo, Bastian. I don't need anyone. You know that. Just do as I say, alright? We'll celebrate Sherlock's death tonight somewhere nice. The Ritz maybe? Now wait." Jim flashed him a manic smile and jogged off down the stairs.

_So Sebastian waited. He waited to see Sherlock Holmes fall. He kept his scope trained on John Watson. He waited, and he worried._

Sebastian knew he was being foolish as he tore up the last flight of stairs. He had watched Sherlock Holmes fall, blood haloing around him on the pavement. He should have followed the plan and gone down to the car to wait for Jim. But...

But there had been that strange gun shot earlier from the roof, and Jim hadn't answered his text.

He should have waited in the car, because the police would be here any minute to investigate. But...

His mouth tasted like ash and fear, and his legs burned as he hauled ass up the last few steps and erupted onto the roof of St. Bart's. He tried to imagine the jungle, the comforting smell and sound of the rain and the mud, the hunt. It wasn't working though. He was here, in London, trying to find his maniac boyfriend and expecting the worst.

Jim was laying on the roof. He wasn't moving. Little red rivers flowed away from the back of his skull, and Sebastian felt his blood run cold. He dropped his duffel on the ground.

"Oh God, no. Jim..." He rushed the to corpse and dropped down next to it. "Jim you mother fucker...you...you son of a bitch..." Sebastian's hands shook. Jim's eyes were wide open and glassy, his manic smile still plastered to his face. Sebastian tried to take a pulse, tried not to look at the horrible mix of blood and skull that had splattered behind Jim's head. Dead. Just a corpse. Just meat.

Sebastian doubled over and vomited bile onto the roof.

He could hear a police siren wailing in the distance, heading towards him and he knew he had to go. He left the broken bag of meat that used to be Jim there on the roof and just hoped that someone would cover him up before the pigeons started to eat him.

He couldn't remember how he got back to Jim's flat. He couldn't remember opening the vodka and drinking it straight from the bottle. He didn't even remember sobbing on the kitchen floor, crying for the first time since his brother had died.

He didn't remember anything until three days later when he came to on the bathroom floor, waking up to a world in which Jim Moriarty was dead.

There used to be days when Sebastian came home to music, and Jim dancing. There used to be days when he came home to screaming, and blood. Now, Sebastian only comes home to silence.

x x x

Sebastian sat on his sofa, turning his new business card over and over in his hand. It was about time the firm updated the cards. New discreet encoded email address, new encrypted phone number. The card was pitch black, emblazoned with a single capitalized M.

Oh, most people would still think of it as Moriarty. That clever bastard Sherlock Holmes would see it and think Moran.

The beauty of it, Sebastian thought with the devil laughing behind his eyes, was that it really was both.

X x x

x x x


End file.
